


The Morning After

by Kabal42



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Guilt, Hangover, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabal42/pseuds/Kabal42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The worst hangover is the moral one" – Danish saying</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Elfflame for looking this over for me.  
> Please be aware that there's internalised homophobia in this piece and it isn't pretty. Inspired by a prompt to write about someone waking up on a Sunday morning after a night of severe intoxication.

The alarm intruded into his dreams like an icepick driving into his temple, bringing pain, confusion, acute nausea. James groped for the small clock, finding it after what seemed like ages, and flopped back down into bed without ever opening his eyes. He lay there, dreading the next onslaught of the noise from hell, as he tried to coax his body into accepting that the pull of gravity was down and his bed wasn't spinning.

A few minutes later, he dared open one eye. Less bad than he'd thought, the room wasn't spinning when his eyes were open, so he opened the other as well. At least it was pleasantly twilit in here, the curtains causing the light to redden and only partly seep through. He sat up, rubbed his neck and discovered that the pain was partly to do with a large bump on the back of his head. A vague memory of stumbling backwards into a brick wall, someone pushing against his shoulders, presented itself when he queried his mind for an answer to where it came from. He swallowed hard, the nausea returning at full force, but his mouth was too dry and he retched, also dryly.

It took a few more minutes – and another poke at the alarm clock to get the bloody snooze function turned off – before he could get out of bed and somehow stumble to the bathroom. His eyes in the mirror were bloodshot and he looked exactly like he felt. 'Why am I even going on a morning like this?' he muttered at his own reflection. _Because you need it_ his mind supplied. _The presence of God, the hope of redemption, the illusion of being forgiven for your sins._ And truth be told, if he ever needed to be forgiven, today was the day...

The short walk to the church felt long in the cool spring morning, the light was too bright and the greasy spoon around the corner emitted a smell that made him grimace. He knew he'd be better off eating something, but he simply couldn't face a plate right now, especially not a cooked breakfast. Will might claim it was the best kind of food for curing a hangover, but James had never been convinced of this.

The cool calm of the church was even more welcome today than usual. James sunk into a pew and ignored any attempts at contact by pretending to be deep in prayer. Which wasn't exactly an unusual pursuit for him on a Sunday morning, only recently he hadn't been as diligent, though he had done his very best to conceal that fact. As he stood for prayer he silently implored the God he was no longer as certain of to help him, to free him of his doubts, to wipe the sin from his soul.

It was a small thing, it seemed to him, for a God to clear that stain on him and make it go away. How hard could it be? Then he'd never have to think about it again, about hand pushing him against a wall so he banged his head, about the same hands under his shirt, on his hips, lips on his lips, on his cock. Of _God, help me_ his hand on another man's hard erection and of pushing against that man. His own moans echoed in his head, so loud it felt as if the entire congregation could hear, like God created a loudspeaker to announce his sin and point a condemning finger at him rather than forgiving.

James was hardly aware of any of the service at all, couldn't have given any sort of account of the sermon or teachings of the day. When he made his way back home afterwards, he did not feel the usual elation or feeling of being clean and bettered. Instead he felt exposed to God and man alike and worthy of nothing but contempt.

'Do you truly think it is that abominable a sin?' Will asked him later that night. 'Can a man not enter Heaven even if he has feelings for another man? Even if he is intimate with him? It's love, isn't it? God forgives us all and... James, really, don't you think?' The hope in Will's voice was so strong that James could taste it. He wanted to say yes, yes, there is a way into Heaven for you and I know about you and it's all right, you're my friend. But all he could think of was the feeling of hands pushing him against a wall and overwhelming nausea and disgust.

'No, Will. It's wrong. You have to change to be in God's presence.' If he had to change, so did Will.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure why this went to such a dark place, but it did. I suppose that sometimes it just has to be let out.
> 
> I would also like to point out that this is nothing more than my view of the internal workings of a fictional character and has no reflection upon anyone else.


End file.
